Chapter 363: A Bloody and Brutal Perspective

Chapter 363: A Bloody and Brutal Perspective

"Know, oh prince, that between the years when Engine made the world and the years of the rise of the Children of Typhon, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining cities lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars - Cinderstein with its hoards of gold, Wolfsburg with its Guilds, Northguard the Miserly, Silverthorne with its fair-haired women and towers of shadow-haunted mystery, Sedgewick with its tireless workers, Shadowport that bordered on the Underground kingdoms of the Engineers, Limburger Hollow with its tasty cheese, and Mapleshade with its riders of moose. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Gadobhra, reigning supreme in the dreaming North. Hither came Ozymandias, the Butcher, bloody-handed maker of Sausage, sullen-eyed, cleaver in hand, a warrior, a titan, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the World beneath his booted feet."

A meaty fist the size of an ox smacked into Ozzy, knocking him through the air and into a side of raw beef hanging on the edge of the large abattoir. The Butcher of Sedgewick was feeling that blow, his head spinning, and body aching. Nothing had ever hit him that hard. The carcass of meat was reduced to steak tar-tar. Ozzy stood up, wiped blood and raw beef from his face, and looked at his opponent. The Butcher was Gadobhra stood nearly thirty feet tall and looked as though a giant twice his size had been forced into a tight barrel half his height. Stumpy, thick legs ended in enormous three-toed feet, and his arms were wider than his legs. A cleaver the size of a barn door hung at his belt, glowing red and sullenly grumbling that it was being ignored. Layers of fat hid layers of muscle, giving him a somewhat comical appearance, which could only be appreciated from a long distance away and a powerful telescope. Up close, there was no doubt that this primordial horror was the most dangerous creature in Gadobhra or under it.

As Ozzy cleared his head, his opponent spit and then laughed. "You are such a pain in my ass, son. And don't take that personally. Half the dungeon's butchers might be descended from me, but I'm not claiming a smoke-swilling abomination like you as a relation. My family tree is twisted and rotten enough without adding a blackened branch like you to it."

Ozzy was happy for a breather. One second, he'd been heading back to Sedgewick, and the next, he was in the Pit of the Butcher directly in front of a throne of meat and gristle. "Sorry if I'm causing your fat ass any inconvenience; maybe you shouldn't have dragged me here? I'm happy to head home and get back to work."

The Butcher of Gadobhra walked back to his throne and picked up a bone that once belonged to some enormous creature, sharpened from gnawing on it over the decades. It made a good toothpick. "Oh, you think I wanted you here? Knock that idea out of that thick head of yours. The only time I give a crap about greeting a new butcher is at Guild meetings and when they fight their way down to me and swear allegiance. And none of that describes the fancy-schmancy, smoke-loving, meat-ruining, minion-stealing pretty boy I see in front of me. The only reason I even agreed to give you some advice is you've done something that most of these nincompoops in the dungeon have never done: And that's become a Legend. For that, you get a few words of wisdom from me. And trust me, I have very few words of wisdom, so treat each as a hard-earned victory."

"Advice? Then what the hell was the fight about? You smacked me around a dozen times, and I barely nicked your legs hard as I tried."

Again, laughter. "Maybe you should learn to think first, then? What was the first move you made? Did you look around the battlefield? Appraise your chance of victory? Negotiate your way out of a tough situation? Nope, you pulled your cleavers out and grew a couple of feet taller." He scowled, anger clearly showing on his face and his voice thundering.

You dared to raise a hand to me? To ME!

You're lucky I have a dungeon to run. Dungeons are like armies; they move on their stomachs. Only the fact that you've been shoving tons of meat into this place kept you from being gutted and what was left of you hanging on a meat hook. Now, put away those cleavers and pull up a stool. We have shit that needs saying, so you're going to be all polite-like and not provoke me into smacking you around some more."

Ozzy put away his cleavers, grabbed a stool, and sat down, a little puzzled by the change from fighting to talking. The Butcher yelled, "And the rest of you can quit hiding in the shadows and get back to work! This is a private talk; I'll gut anyone who tries to listen. Minions? You tell me if you catch a butcher or daemon pulling sneaky stuff. I'll pat you on the head, and you can sit at the big table and eat a nice mince pie for a reward." The butchers returned to work, and the minions raced around, eager for a reward. Knowing how bad the life of a minion in the dungeon was, Ozzy had no doubts this was now a private discussion. "Can we start with why I'm here for advice?"

"Sure, why not? See, you did something BIG. I emphasize that word. BIG. You managed to kill an old power and did it in front of a lot of other powerful people. You scared the piss out of them. Doesn't matter how you did it. Some will call it luck or taking advantage of an opponent's weakness. None of doesn't matters, just scared people making crappy excuses. You won the battle using your brain and their weakness. That's smart. Only an idiot throws away an advantage, especially in a fight where no one expects you to win. And now you're a Legend. Guess where being a Legend can put you?"

Ozzy shrugged, not knowing where this conversation was going.

The Butcher slapped the arm of his throne hard enough that the structure of bone and gristle was crushed, and he lost an armrest. "It can land you right here, with your fat ass having to rule over a dungeon of idiot butchers and give advice to little piss-ants who learned how to cut pork chops. You think I was born here? Nope. I grew up in some little village; I forget the name, working the farm and enjoying the slaughtering season. I liked culling the herds and cutting up the meat. As time went on, that became my job. Grab a pig and slice it in half in one swing. I started to make a name for myself. I'd put aside some money, started a little shop in the village, and was eyeing up a local girl who had her eye on me. The future looked happy and boring."

He paused and scowled, then chased the old memories away and continued. "And then the wars started, and that little village was emptied of every boy and girl over 13 summers. It was a good thing, too, since it was overrun by the swarm a month later. They put me to work in the baggage train, cutting up whatever they brought me and turning it into food for a hungry army. Had my share of fighting, too. Taking out the enemy supply train is a winning tactic that the idiot general in charge of our forces kept forgetting. Twice, the bugs sent fast-moving squads of crawlers at us, and I learned that swinging a hog slicer worked just as well on living meat as dead meat. And I liked it. Better experience, for sure, and those bugs make this cute squealing sound as you slice them in half. I sliced them up and put them in the stewpots like any other meat, and no one complained. A soldier with a full belly is a happy soldier. The general ignored the attacks and pushed further ahead, and the enemy tried to cut the army in half. They sent a thousand mind-controlled 'pets' at us. Men and women from the villages or captured soldiers, all with a little critter in their ear controlling them. Many of the regular soldiers hesitated at killing them or grew disgusted, which gave the thralls and bugs an edge."

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"Fine, here's what I want to know: Why the hell do you hate cooked meat, bacon, or sausage?"

The Butcher blinked, then chuckled. "With all you could ask, that's what you want to know? Fine. A Legend can change you. Mine is all about blood, gore, and raw meat. I'm not remembered as a leader of men or a killer of monsters. Not a person alive remembers how I fed an army, and no one talks about the Butcher's Brigade saving the Empire, only about how I lopped off heads to take control and won by throwing away lives. When we didn't have food to eat, we ate what we killed and rarely had time to cook it. I grew to hate the thought of a huge baggage train slowing us down, filled with it's beans and coffee and bacon. We roamed the land and ate what we had to. You might say that attitude is still there. I don't mind a little char on my steak, but it better be red and juicy on the inside. You sit up there and cure your fancy bacon. Tell me, boy, did anyone ever die from eating bacon? All that smoking and curing is weakening you."

Ozzy reached into his bag. "Yeah? Eat four pieces of this and tell me if you think I can kill with my bacon?"

The Butcher leaned forward and sniffed. "Not touching it. Smells well done." He looked up suddenly to where a minion in the rafters was pointing to a spot between two hanging carcasses. "Mignik! I see you up there in the shadows. Get your ass down here! I gave an order and somehow, you don't have the brains to take me seriously?"

The boar-headed butcher slunk into the room, glaring at Ozzy. "I needed to know! What has this one done to get your attention? It steals minions and burns the meat. It doesn't come to the dungeon and works no shifts. It stays outside where things are soft and the meat is easy. Why do you sit and talk with it? Why?!"

The Butcher's eyes narrowed. "Your stupid, as usual, Miggy, but you do have a couple of points. Tell you what? I'll bring those up in a moment, but first, our new Butcher, Ozzy, has something for you to eat. Choke it down and I won't kill you and turn you into a minion for defying my order."

Mignik went from abrasive to fearful, instantly. He grabbed the bacon from Ozzy and started chewing it. "Stupid, stupid, bacon. It...it isn't terrible. Fatty, sweet...hot. It's hot. IT's HOT!"

He threw back his head and burped, sending a burst of flame from his mouth and up to the ceiling. Then his skin burst into flames, and he ran around the room screaming before exploding into chunks of singed meat. A large chunk sailed past The Butcher who caught it and popped it into his mouth."

"That was funny. And he doesn't have a bad flavor. Tastes like chicken." He stared at greasy, blackened spot where Mignik had exploded. "Ok, I will grant you the point about killing people with bacon. I know what that shit is, now. They used to feed it to the fire and volcano mages to beef up their mana. Come to think of it, there were a few heads popping each battle. I used to wonder about that. What else do you have in that bag?"

Ozzy pulled out a sausage grinder and put it on the table. Then he gathered the ingredients he needed from the meat all around, and pulled spices out of his bag. In went fat and gristle and blood. Lots of blood. Spices he'd bought from the kitchen store in Wolfsburg, salad berries from the smoke, and a few of Mignik's entrails. He turned the handle and the grinder squealed and growled like a lost soul as the links of blood sausage came out the other end. Ozzy kept the heat low, breathing out cold smoke and let just a little settle into the sausage. Then he tossed the links to The Butcher. "Try this. Blood sausage is an old recipe made by damn near every ancient culture. Some use a sheep's belly, but I prefer links. There are even ways to cure it without smoke or cooking, but it takes longer."

The Butcher bit into one, then tossed the rest into his mouth. Fat and blood ran down his chin. "Not bad. I could get used to that touch of smoke. Reminds me of the smell of cities burning as we marched through them. And I remember eating sausage before I became a legend. Long time gone, and it's hard to remember things that aren't killing, but I remember we ate a lot of sausage in the army. All right, you'll do. But I want to see you in the Pit. You can come visit like anyone else, kill or be killed. Bring friends and fight. You might wake some people up, and piss them off if you take a cleaver from them. Miggy sure is pissed, and it might have helped him grow a spine. I think I see it over by that bench." He laughed at his own joke. "But someday, I'm going to call, and you'll show up for a shift, or I'll come drag you back. Just a little one. Oink and Chopper have some vacation time coming up. You can cover for them. And I like what you did with the Guild. Gristle is another lost child that needs to be kept busy. Tell him I want a level four Butcher's Guild and get it built. Stupid that's it's so low when you've recruited a brigade of butchers and are heading to Tier Four. I want a guildhall to match that. Gadobhra was a city of Butchers once, and it will be again. Dominate the other guilds and remind them who's the Boss Butcher. You handle that for me, come visit now and then, and I'll stay off your ass for a little bit. Not that anyone else is going to know that. You get me?"

"Yeah, I think I understand. And thanks for the advice."

"Ha! Sure, anytime. Come see me again when you do something else stupid and heroic. Now get the hell out of here. I'm calling for the gristle daemons and toothy-gnawers and sending them after you in half a minute. Run, Ozzy, Run!."